


That Which is Real

by anomalation



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, No Robots AU, Theranos mention, William is only mentioned briefly rly, everybody's a human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: A reimagining of the characters' relationships, if the hosts were all were human servants in the Delos household. Maeve's POV. The self-indulgent Maeve and Logan friendship AU of your dreams.





	That Which is Real

The Delos house held many secrets, many unpleasant and frequently illegal. The person in the house privy to most of them was the one least often considered by the members of the Delos family; Maeve.

Maeve had come on at twenty as a maid, when she had a daughter too young and no college degree. Then she'd just sort of stayed. The pay was good, not because they cared particularly for her, but more because the Delos family had no frame of reference for minimum wage and they were too self-involved to look into it. The people were unbearable, of course, but they were home so rarely that Maeve had the place to herself, more often than not.

She was up on a ladder, cleaning the chandelier in the main foyer when the front door opened. A pair of dark eyes blinked up at her; whoever it was, he was related to Mrs. Delos undoubtedly. "Whoa," the guy said. "Since when does Dad hire hot chicks? I thought Ma was way too paranoid."

"Since I spilled water on your father when he grabbed my ass at dinner," Maeve answered. She recognized this face now, from the few photographs kept in Mrs. Delos' boudoir. "I assume you're Logan," she added.

"Yeah," he said. "Heard so much about me?"

"The opposite, actually." She came down off the ladder to stand on solid ground. Logan was at least a head taller than her, broad-shouldered but thin. And his face sort of fell when she said that, so she added, “Not that I speak to either of your parents often.” She struggled to shut the ladder, and Logan just kind of watched.

“Who’re you again?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”

“I fly home on holidays,” she said.

“And where is home, for you?” Logan asked, leaning on the side of the ladder. His dark eyes flicked over her with interest.

Maeve regarded him. “I’m not going to fuck you,” she said.

“I didn’t…” he began to sputter.

“I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“No you aren’t,” he frowned. “I’m twenty-two.”

So she’d been a little off; only had seven years on him. Maeve didn’t feel it necessary to inform him of that. “Be a dear and shut that,” she said. “Might as well put that height to good use.”

Logan looked at her with a kind of dawning disbelief. She expected to be told off, for him to say something snooty about not doing housework when they paid people to do it. Instead, Logan reached out and wrestled the legs of the ladder shut, then hoisted it under one long arm. “Where does it go?”

“Come with me,” she sighed, and led him out to the laundry room. It was not a place he was familiar with, that was clear. She took the ladder from him and leaned it where it went, against a wall. “Much appreciated,” she said. “Shall I make you up a room?” It was her job, after all, to take care of things like that.

“Oh, is my room not mine anymore?” Logan asked, and there was equal parts amusement and hurt in his voice.

“Which room was yours?” Maeve asked.

“That’s a no, I guess.” He turned to head back up the steps. And Maeve followed him, scooting past him impatiently when he took the steps too slower for her liking.

“Do you have bags you need unpacked?” Maeve asked, as they went back into the foyer and up the steps.

Logan nodded, and pulled the front door open. He had several bags, sitting on the front steps. A suitcase, a duffle, a smaller backpack. All made out of matching leather, all more expensive than Maeve’s yearly rent. It was just an observation, not bitterness. She carried the duffle and backpack. Logan got his own suitcase.

“This was mine,” he said once they were upstairs. He went into the second room on the right, and then he sort of paused there, in the doorway. The room was well-outfitted in a tasteful natural palette like the rest of the house. The one thing it definitely wasn’t was personal.

Logan didn’t seem to register that. He looked around and she’d almost mistake his affect as cheerful. Just the bobbing of his adam’s apple gave him away. “I’ll unpack your things,” Maeve said, and that spurred him into moving.

“Right,” he said. “I assume there’s beer in the fridge?” He left before she answered.

Maeve took her time unpacking for him. She pulled out his clothes, re-folded them and set them neatly in drawers. Carefully, she didn’t notice the number of old T-shirts he had, the well-loved pajama bottoms with frayed hems. Those got folded like everything else. She found a few more intimate items as well, and with an eye roll, tucked them under his underwear. Then she lined up all his bathroom things in the bathroom cabinets, and hung the clothes that seemed fit for that. And she found other things in his luggage as well, a few dogeared paperbacks and a leather-bound journal. A laptop, too, and a tablet but a surprising amount of analog things for someone so thoroughly born into technology. Maeve almost found it charming.

After she finished with that, Maeve went back down to the kitchen, and began preparing dinner. There were several assistants who did much of the actual cooking, but they changed more often than the seasons, and Maeve hardly knew them. Got the job done, that was all that mattered. Dinner was ready on time, even with her having to cover for Clementine and set the table.

Dinner itself was a break. They got to sit at the long prep table and eat whatever was too imperfect to be served. Maeve picked at a too-charred pork chop and had a few bites of roasted potatoes. She wasn’t hungry.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket around the time dinner should be finishing up, and she went to the back door to take it when she saw who it was. “Hello?”

“I’m so sorry,” Clem said.

Maeve exhaled for the first time all day. “I’d certainly hope so,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m okay, there was just…” Clem cleared her throat. “They got mad last time I came in with a black eye.”

“Do you have anywhere else to go?” Clem didn’t; they both knew that. “Come on,” Maeve said. “Nothing will happen, darling.”

“Okay. Twenty minutes.”

“Yes.” Maeve hung up and tapped her phone against her lips. Clem with a black eye meant she was back with that despicable man she called a boyfriend. The money had to be nice. The beatings less so.

“Maeve,” one of the sous chefs said. “Dinner’s done.”

“Right,” Maeve said, straightened, and went out into the dining room.

The air was tense, around the table. Logan sat in the middle of his parents. There was an empty bottle of wine near his plate that Maeve cleared, tucking it under her arm so she could hold plates as well. “Can I get another of the same?” Logan said to her, stopping her with a hand on her arm.

“I’d watch my grip, if I were you,” James said from the end of the table. “This one’s likely to take your hand off.”

Maeve didn’t appreciate being spoken for. It wasn’t like the boy was groping her. But she didn’t say anything. Logan removed his hand. She got him another bottle, fetched coffee for the table, and retired to the kitchen. The others did most of the dishes. Maeve took care of the hand-washables. The crystal, mainly.

One by one, the others left. Two stayed an extra hour, to finish preparing for breakfast and lunch the next day. They didn’t live here like some of the help did. Didn’t get paid as much either. Maeve made a lot of trade-offs like that, pretended she wasn’t negotiating her soul away bit by bit.

Maeve was drying the last pieces when the back door opened. She set everything down to stand, because she knew who was here. It was Clem, frailer than usual with a spectacular bruise on her cheek. She’d been crying. “Sorry,” she said. “Bus was delayed.”

Clem claimed to be twenty-one, but her young face betrayed that. Maeve threw her arms around her to hold her, and pressed their cheeks together. “When will you learn to care for yourself?” Maeve asked once she was sure her voice would hold up.

“Not today, at least,” Clem whispered, as she had before. “Was everything alright?” She stepped back and wiped her eyes so the mascara wouldn’t smear.

Maeve nodded, of course. “I handled everything. But if you want to keep this job, you’ll have to do a bit better.”

“I know,” Clem said. “I will.”

“Alright. You need something to eat? There’s leftovers in the fridge.”

Clem did need to eat, of course. She always did. So Maeve sat across from her and watched, with a warmth in her heart she didn’t dare lay claim to.

There was yelling she could hear through the door to the dining room, an argument between James and his son. It ended on a climax, when Logan stormed in and slammed the door shut behind him, cursing the whole time. Clem startled; Maeve hardened. “I need another fucking drink,” Logan said wildly, pacing the length of the room.

“You need to watch your fucking tone,” Maeve told him.

He paused in his tracks, looked at her. She expected to see rage there, was prepared for that, but instead saw only unrestrained despair. “He doesn’t get to just do that,” he shouted.

“For the last time, boy, keep your voice down or leave this kitchen,” Maeve said, more emphatically, and that seemed to stop him. His shoulders relaxed a touch. “What do you want to drink, more wine?”

Logan shook his head. “Stronger.”

Maeve stood up and got a bottle of whiskey, a glass tumbler. She set them both on the edge of the table for him. “Go crazy,” she said, and sat back down, across from Clem. The girl was still trembling.

Inconveniently and unexpectedly, the boy took his bottle and glass and sat down near them, a few seats away. It seemed he wanted his grief to be performed for the benefit of others. And of course he would, Maeve thought to herself. Why wouldn’t they want to have every second of her life that used to be her own. But then he proceeded to drink and say nothing for five minutes, and it occurred to her he might want just want company.

“I got something for it, at least,” Clem finally said in a tremulous high voice.

“Well,” Maeve said tightly. “That’s something.”

“Doesn’t hurt much,” Clem said. “Just…”

“Just a fucking black eye,” Maeve said. “And who knows what else.”

“It’s a bruise,” Clem protested. “That isn’t anything to lose sleep over.” Like Maeve hadn’t seen her do just that, countless nights. It was sick, but Maeve kept her thoughts to herself.

Logan, however, did not. “Please,” he said, grimacing from a particularly long sip. "Speaking as someone who's had his fair share of shiners, that definitely hurts."

Maeve regarded him; she considered telling him they didn't want his input, because they didn't. And then she thought about asking how a child of such privilege was getting punched in the face so often, but that seemed like something that wasn't her place to say.

"Just a bit," Clem said faintly, moving food around on her plate.

"Sure," Logan said sarcastically, and Maeve did not smile at that as much as she wanted to. "Who're you, are you new?" he asked, and drained his glass. He filled it again with clumsy indifference, watching it listlessly.

"She's been here about a year," Maeve said. "And you can't fuck her either."

Clem tried to kick Maeve under the table. "Maeve!" she said, in angry alarm.

Maeve was just looking at Logan, meeting his gaze coolly. And after a second, Logan smiled. Not the frightening smile she saw so often on his father, but a genuine one. He pointed at her. "Alright," he said. "I like you."

"Good to know," Maeve answered, but she let him see a little bit of her smile. She liked him too. "Do you plan to finish that bottle?"

"What if I do?" Logan mumbled crossly. "That's none of your concern."

"Fine," Maeve said. "Enjoy your evening. Clem?"

They left him there, drinking, and went downstairs. Maeve didn't like thinking about their rooms as servant quarters, but that's what they were. Clem was across the hall from her. Maeve kept her door cracked. "Sleep well, darling," Maeve said at their doors.

"Thanks. I'll catch up tomorrow on all the dusting, I swear."

Maeve hugged her, assured her she needn't worry, and then, her day was over. Her room was the haven she returned to, a respite from the world of vaguely taupe shapes and constant demands of her time. She kept it neat, of course. Her closet was minimal. But the shelves were full of _her_ books, and the painting on the wall was something she'd found at a little shop, and the quilt was made by her sister. It was hers. It was relaxing. She put her pajamas on, a sweatshirt and athletic pants, took her makeup off in her bathroom. There was a routine to it. Sometimes the routine felt kind of empty. But there was nothing she could do about it, so she went to sleep.

 

 

Clem was up on time the next day, helping Maeve prepare breakfast. None of the Delos family actually ate breakfast aside from black coffee, but she liked to be ready for their whims. So she had a few pancakes freshly made, some eggs, cut fruit, and the obvious vat of coffee. She made Clem a cup, with a dollop of cream and a little cinnamon sugar.

"Thanks," Clem sighed, leaning back against the table. She wrapped her hands around the mug and took a deep breath in. Maeve was familiar with the girl's every mood; she knew the weariness in her eyes and dark circles under her eyes.

"Nightmares again?" Maeve asked, pouring herself a mug too.

"Getting bad," Clem confessed. "They'll fade, though."

If they didn't, Maeve resolved to take action. She watched the girl, with a sip from her mug. "The man's a monster," she finally said. "And I'm going to have security keep an eye out for him."

Clem looked at her with something like exasperation, but she didn't tell her not to, and that was the crux of the matter. So Maeve made that resolution, on another sip of coffee, to tell security just that. "Let's set the service out," she finally said.

There were various conveniences so the Delos family never had to interact with the people who made their lives so simple. One of such things was the side table, which wheeled out into the dining room. There was a heating plate that she put covered dishes of food on, an insulated carafe of coffee, dishes, napkins - everything. They set everything out on the table and Clem rolled it out, and then, the morning belonged to them.

"Who was the guy last night?" Clem asked when they ate.

"Logan Delos," Maeve answered. "The son."

"Oh. As in the disappointment?"

Maeve took a bite instead of answering. "The very same," she finally said.

"How long's he here?"

She fixed Clem with a look. "He's not on the table for you," she said firmly. "You have enough on your plate."

"Mixing up your metaphors, there," Clem said with an unconcerned shrug.

"Clementine!"

"I know you're serious," Clem answered. "And I appreciate the concern, of course, but I don't need it. I can take care of myself." She was trying to act very calm, but when she caught a piece of Maeve's absolutely furious look, she added, "I'm not even into him! Don't worry."

That was placating. Maeve settled down a bit, and had a piece of pancake. "I won't have you losing your job," she said.

"I won't," Clem said. "I'm swearing off men forever, anyways. And I have to get started on the dusting, so I'm going into the east wing." She kissed Maeve on the cheek. "See you for lunch."

"You have your phone?"

"Yep!" Clem took off, up the back stairs, and the room was empty again.

Maeve, in the silence immediately following, tried very hard not to imagine that exchange happening with her daughter. It wouldn't help anything. She busied herself making more pancakes, since she had more batter left over. And that was alright.

The back door opened, and the smell of fresh grass clippings blew in. "Hey, Ma," Armistice said.

"Hello, darling," Maeve answered without turning around. "Hungry?"

"Always." Armistice came over to her, and hugged Maeve from behind. She liked to sneak affection in. "How are you?"

"Just fine. Where's our friend?"

"Mixed up in some trouble," Armistice answered. She squeezed tighter for a second, and some of her fine, white-blonde hair got in Maeve's mouth. It had a habit of doing that. "He'll be back tomorrow. Heard the kid got in today, what's he like?"

"Different," Maeve said, and flipped a pancake for emphasis. "Not like his father at all."

"Well. Maybe he's awful in some new innovative way," Armistice said dryly, and let go. "Coffee left?"

"Yeah, over there," Maeve pointed with the spatula. "Pancakes?"

"Sure, thanks. Put some pecans in there, wouldja?"

Armistice was very beautiful, in the way that an ice storm was beautiful. Uninviting, unusual, hard to look straight at. That was Maeve's first impression of her, anyways, when she came on a few years ago. That remained her impression when she saw Armistice easily disarm and then knock out a man on his way to kill James Delos. It was very impressive. But Maeve didn't have a real measure of her personality until the first year in. They'd gotten to know each other one late night over some sherry they probably shouldn't have dipped into. Armistice spoke briefly of her family. Maeve, in turn, shared about her daughter. After that, Armistice began calling her mom. It melted Maeve's heart, in a way she didn't intend to let it. And it continued.

Maeve added some chopped pecans, got honey out of a cabinet for her as well, and didn't think much of it.

"Anything to report from last night?" Maeve asked after a moment.

"No. Not even a hooker. Maybe the old man is taking a break," Armistice was saying, when Logan came in the room. He moved quickly; he was in and pouring himself coffee before they registered his presence, even.

"You can thank me for that," he said, his back to them. "Can't get it up when he's busy resenting my presence."

Armistice looked at Maeve, raised her eyebrows. Maeve smiled, shrugged a shoulder back, and a dangerous kind of smile split Armistice face. "Well," she said. "Thanks then. Made our job a lot easier."

Logan turned back around with his mug of coffee and raised it in their direction. "Happy to play my part," he said. "And who might you be?"

Armistice shrugged, licked honey off her finger. "Coffee out there not good enough for you?"

"I like the coffee in here better," Logan answered. "Can you make bacon?"

"We don't have any," Maeve said. "I can have some tomorrow."

"Thanks." He sat down at the other end of the table, like he did last night, and scrolled through something on his phone.

Armistice looked at Maeve again; her mouth was full but her eyes were more than expressive enough. She was surprised by him. Maeve had to say she was too. "I believe we have some sausages I could fry up," she said, and turned back to the skillet to finish the pancakes. "If you'd like that."

"Sure," he said without looking up.

That was more what she was expecting from him. It evened things out, really. So Maeve finished the pancakes and began frying a few sausages in the same pan. "You want any?" she asked Armistice, who nodded.

"Thanks, Ma," she added, and hopped up on the table. "You wanna know about the trouble Hector's in?"

Maeve snorted. "I can imagine. Some stray dog he needed to protect or something? The man loves a lost cause."

Armistice rolled her eyes. "Y'aren't too wrong. This undocumented thing."

"I see. He needs to be careful," Maeve said, half to herself. "Tends to go off half cocked."

The other woman laughed once, her curious harsh bark. "Doesn't he ever," she agreed. "Though it doesn't matter much, if the world's as doomed as he thinks it is."

Maeve made a dismissive sound. "A cheap out," she said. 

"At least it's cheap," Armistice said. She reached into the skillet and plucked out a hot piece of sausage, popped it into her mouth and grinned. "Yum," she said.

"Be careful," Maeve chided her.

"I'm plenty careful."

"You reached into a hot pan."

"I have tough fingers."

Maeve glared at her, mouth pursed against the smile. "You're incorrigible," she said.

"I dunno what that word means," Armistice said, and the cut of her grin was a comfort.

"Search your heart," Maeve said, and Armistice reached back in but this time Maeve was fast enough to slap her hand away. "Wait," she said firmly, so Armistice waited.

Once the sausages were done, Maeve put most of them on a plate and took the plate to Logan. He looked up from his phone then, and said "Thanks," in a pleasant enough tone.

"Of course," Maeve said stiffly, and returned to Armistice on the other end.

"Oh, one thing," Armistice said, and then she tossed up a piece of sausage to catch it in her mouth. As always, her aim was impeccable. "Clem got in late last night?"

"Yes," Maeve nodded.

"Is she okay?"

When Maeve hesitated, Logan spoke up from the other end of the table. "Big black eye," he said, eyes still on his phone. "But she's walking."

Armistice glared at Maeve, mouthed "what the fuck" at her. Maeve was thoroughly caught off-guard. "You'd do well to mind your own business," she said sharply.

"What, were you not going to tell her?" Logan demanded.

"I was going to provide my opinion, which is what she was asking for," Maeve said.

Logan shrugged, infuriatingly.

Maeve lowered her voice to a murmur. "She went back to that man," she said, leaning closer to Armistice. "Missed work yesterday, took the bus back when she could."

"Christ," Armistice said, matching her tone. "Worked her over good, huh."

Maeve's stomach flipped a little. Sometimes Armistice could be too blunt even for Maeve's standards. "Evidently," she said faintly.

"Well, alright," Logan said loudly from the other end of the table. "Don't whisper."

"We aren't whispering," Armistice said, crossing her arms.

"No, but you basically are." He picked up his phone and his plate and his fork and came over to their end of the table, where he set everything back down again. The women watched, silently, and once he was seated again, Armistice drew a deep breath.

"Alright," she said. "I'm out. See ya later." And she left, shutting the back door behind her.

Logan looked at Maeve. "She doesn't like me, does she."

"Does it matter?" Maeve said, and turned her back to him to begin washing the few dishes in the sink.

"Aren't you guys like, supposed to be nice to me?" he asked conversationally. "I mean, since I am kind of your boss."

"Your father is our boss," Maeve said. "Feel free to tell him you think we don't like you."

Logan was quiet for a second. "Good point," he said. "He'd probably take your side."

"There are no sides," Maeve said testily, turning back to look at him. "But the amount of money in your trust fund has no impact on the involvement I want you to have in my personal conversations." She turned back to the dishes.

"I see," he said, and was quiet for a while.

Maeve finished the dishes, turned to get his off the table and he stopped her, trying to put his hand on her arm before she snatched it away. Logan was frustrated. "Grab my hand and I hope you're ready to lose yours," she said.

"Okay! Fine. I was going to apologize, is that alright with you?"

She was caught off-guard again. "For what?"

"For... being nosy, or whatever. I'm sorry, I didn't... think," he shrugged, and avoided any sliver of eye contact. "And I don't want to get off on the wrong foot, since I'm gonna be home for a while. So."

Home for a while and his parents were hardly speaking to him. Maeve felt a pang of sympathy. "You haven't," she said crisply. "Armistice is just a bit prickly."

"That's her name? Armistice?" Logan asked, amazed. He wore every expression wholly and completely, such contrast to his parents. Maeve was surprised he'd survived childhood, honestly.

"Yes," she said. "That's her name. She's your best security guard."

"Damn." He handed her his plate. “How do I get on her good side?”

Maeve hesitated. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be confrontational. She refused to betray Armistice’s trust. “Whatever your father would do,” she finally said, “do the opposite.”

Logan laughed, which means she walked that line perfectly. “Yeah,” he said. “Fair point.” He sat there with her for a while, while she finished cleaning up. Maeve got herself more coffee for herself and freshened his up as well. And he smiled at, then, and thanked her.

“Sure,” she said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No I’m good,” he said.

He sat there longer, while she cleaned up the breakfast cart and packaged the leftovers in tupperwares. Those got stashed in the supplementary storage fridge, which was rarely used. Logan was reading the whole time.

“Hey,” he said while she was wiping out the sink.

“Hey yourself,” she answered.

“Can I bounce something off you?”

Maeve blinked several times. “Go on, then.”

“There’s this start-up in Silicon Valley. They’re working on cheaper blood tests, for addicts and shit, an easier way. You only need a drop or two. A real investment opportunity. You think my dad would go for it?”

“How would he make money off of it?” Maeve asked warily. She half expected to be mocked for not knowing.

Logan liked being asked, though. “Good question,” he said. “The answer is insurance companies. Tests like that run several hundred dollars, paid out by the government. They only limit is how much blood you can send in. This would like, exponentially increase the amount of blood testing possible. And the whole time, we’ll get paid four times the cost of testing for each sample.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Does anyone one need that much blood testing?”

“Need is a relative word,” Logan shrugged.

“And these people you’ll be emptying of blood, they’re addicts. People trying to recover while you suck them dry. Is that right?”

Logan looked at her crossly. “I take it you object on moral grounds.”

Maeve clenched her jaw. “Is that right?” she repeated.

“Yeah, that’s just about the gist of it,” Logan sighed. “Is that a no, then?”

“On the contrary,” Maeve said. “The idea is only logical. And the fact that it’s so morally repulsive means your father will probably be the first in line.”

That was definitely the answer he’d been looking for, but now that he had it, Logan didn’t seem to know what to do with it. He looked at his coffee mug - now almost empty again - and said nothing. “Right,” he said.

“Well don’t take my word for it,” Maeve told him after a moment. “I’ve never invested in anything in my life. I’m sure you’ve done your research.” She was not sure, but it sounded nice.

Logan gave her a very petulant look. “I know when I’m being patronized,” he said, standing. “And I know when I’m annoying somebody. Sorry.”

“Are you going to suggest it?” she asked.

“Just might,” he said with a light smile. “If I can live with myself afterwards.” And he saluted her, one finger flicking out from his forehead before he left.

 

 

A month after Logan was home, Theranos went under. The few million his father had invested, on Logan’s advice, was gone without a trace.

The news came over lunch. Maeve only knew that because Hector joined her inside after they left. “Gone?” she asked when she saw him.

“For a few hours, at least,” he said. “More if they decide to golf.”

They fell into an embrace that felt nearly magnetic. She was so drawn to him. She always was. They kissed, too, and Maeve relaxed. She could never relax except when he was around. It was the feeling of knowing someone else was around, someone who could take charge just as well as she could. She loved Hector very much.

“Oh, darling,” she said. “Will you be around more, now? We’ve missed you.”

“I’m quite sure they haven’t noticed one bit,” Hector said. “No more than they notice the absence of a chair.”

“You know good and well that’s not what I meant,” Maeve said. “Shall we sit outside?”

They sat on the steps, overlooking the pool. Hector put his arm around her, and Maeve leaned on his shoulder. “Armistice said you’ve been working with the undocumented,” Maeve finally said. “Helping them secure identities and jobs.”

“Let me guess. You don’t approve of me putting myself in danger like that,” Hector said with a deep sigh. “I know you don’t.”

“And I know you’d rather go out in a blaze of glory than accept any injustice without fighting,” Maeve said softly.

“Indeed. We’ve had this conversation before,” Hector said with affection.

“Many times,” Maeve agreed. “Needn’t have it again.”

He kissed the top of her head, she thought. Held her closer. “Not today,” he said. “But I register your concerns.”

“Well, as long as you register them,” she teased softly, and felt his chuckle in his chest.

“How has it been with the son home?” he asked eventually. “I’ve heard he’s a bit of a powder keg. Hasn’t blown, has he?”

Maeve shook her head. “Hardly. He’s… quite the drama queen,” she said after searching, and Hector laughed abruptly. “I’m serious. He’s got no middle gears, it’s all top speed.”

“Huh,” Hector said.

“Good, mostly, though,” she added. “Kind. When he’s sober, I guess. Armistice is warming to him, that’s a real surprise.”

“Indeed it is,” Hector agreed. “Considering I don’t think she’s warmed to anyone in her life.”

Maeve laughed. “Alright. Maybe not the right words.”

Hector rubbed her arm. “And Clementine?”

“She’s better now than she was a few weeks ago,” Maeve said. “Sometimes that’s all you can hope for with her. Isn’t seeing that man anymore. If he tries to visit, I’d like to call you to keep him away from her.”

“As you wish,” Hector said.

“Such a cheeseball,” she sighed at him.

After a bit, his walkie talkie crackled. “Heya, boss, we got incoming,” Armistice said.

Hector sighed and pulled the walkie off his belt. “Who is it?” he asked, holding down the button.

“The kid,” Armistice said. On her end, they heard the screeching of tires. “He’s driving like he’s fucking insane.”

“Any sign of James?” Maeve asked, and Hector repeated the question.

“None,” Armistice said. “Incoming,” she added. “He’s coming around back. Bleeding.”

Maeve jumped to her feet, and Hector stood too, taking her hand. It took a moment. The house was big. But then Logan came barreling around the side at something close to a run, and Maeve saw what “bleeding” meant.

Logan didn’t seem to notice them at first. He headed towards the lake. Ashley, a guard back there, looked at Hector for direction. Hector shook his head, and Ashely let Logan pass.

“What’s he doing?” Hector asked.

Almost in response, Logan screamed out over the lake, a furious, cracked sound. He screamed until his voice gave out. Then he crumpled over.

“Back to work,” Hector said after a second. “I’ll send Armistice back in case you need any help. Seems he’s in the mood to be a handful.”

“Thank you, darling.” They shared a parting kiss, and Hector walked back towards the front of the house.

Logan made his way towards the house wearily, in pain. The closer he got, the better Maeve saw the state of him. Her mouth went dry. “Don’t worry,” Logan said. “I’m not asking to be taken care of.” He stepped up onto concrete with a wince. “Didn’t mean to break up that… moment, or whatever you were having.”

For once in her life, Maeve didn’t know what to say. He made his way over to her, stood in front of her. She was up a few steps, almost at eye level, yet she could hardly look at him. “Oh, come on,” Logan said. He sniffed, wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. “That bad, huh?”

“I haven’t got any idea what you’re talking about,” Maeve said faintly.

“Come on, Maeve,” Logan said. His voice cracked again. “Don’t go easy on me now.” Tears spilled over when he blinked. And Maeve was never good at feeling helpless.

“There’s a first aid kit inside,” she said. “Come on.”

He stumbled on the few steps up, and that’s how they ended up with hands linked, her leading him like a lost child. She got him inside, on a chair in the kitchen bathroom, and fished the first aid kit out from under the sink.

“We lost the money,” Logan said, unprompted. “Theranos was a scam. Went under. I’m such a fucking idiot.” More tears, streaking down his face too fast to count.

Maeve didn’t comment. She gave him a wad of tissues, and Logan wiped at his face a bit, a the blood on his temple and dripping from his nose. Already his cheekbone was beginning to darken with a bruise.

“It’s my dumbass idea, I had to pay the price,” Logan said. “At least I got out of lunch. You can go,” he added. “I meant it, when I said you didn’t need to take care of me. We take enough of your time up as it is.”

Maeve didn’t go. She watched him blot at the blood on his face. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,” she finally said. “Is it just your face?”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “Y’know, my dad still has a killer left hook, I’ll tell you that.”

“You’ll want to put some antiseptic on that,” Maeve said, because she wasn’t sure how to handle him. She wasn’t good at treating anyone gently, least of all rich men. So she watched while he cleaned himself up then got him out to the kitchen.”Something to eat?” Maeve asked.

“No. Coffee, I guess. If there’s any left.”

Armistice came in from outside, warm and smelling like sunshine and sweat. She sucked in a breath through her teeth when she saw Logan. "Least your nose isn't broken," she said helpfully.

"Surprised it isn't," Logan answered. "Dad boxed when he was my age." He was more subdued now, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion. Maeve was brought him a mug of coffee and he sipped it.

"Ah," Armistice said, sort of vaguely, and she looked at Maeve. "We need to worry about when he gets back?"

"Maybe," Logan said. "I don't know. He probably won't hit you, you could sue."

"You could," Armistice retorted.

Logan shrugged. "Sure. Until I get disinherited over it."

Armistice raised her eyebrows at Maeve. "Dark," she said, and pulled her walkie talkie off her belt. "Ashley, take an early lunch. Fireworks when James gets back."

"Copy that," Ashley answered.

"My dad hired a guy named Ashley to protect our house?" Logan mumbled, sort of reluctantly amused.

"Hector did," Armistice said.

"Who's Hector?"

"Maeve's boyfriend."

Maeve was incensed; she turned to Armistice furiously, and whacked her arm. "Hey! He is!" Armistice said, but Maeve was unrepentant.

"Didn't peg you as the relationship type," Logan remarked, tapping his fingernails on the side of his mug.

She didn't like him trying to peg her as anything. "Shows what you know," she said, feeling a kind of panic. 

"So your dad punched his kid in the face and just continued with lunch?" Armistice asked. She hopped up on the table and crossed her legs.

"Basically," Logan said. "Is that so hard to imagine?"

Armistice looked at him thoughtfully, like he was something she was planning how to take apart. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I’ve never thought about what you guys as people.”

Maeve laughed despite herself, and Logan responded with a look of hurt. “What the hell,” he said.

“How does that feel?” Armistice asked, her smile growing. “Not great, huh.”

“Armistice,” Maeve said. “Find Clem, would you. I don’t want her to get caught off-guard.”

The other girl looked at her with a bit of a pout. “Ruin my fun,” she said regretfully, but she unfolded her legs and hopped down off the table, landed heavily on her combat boots, and set off up the stairs.

Logan crossed his arms on the table. “She hates me,” he said. “And for once, I have no idea what I did.” Maeve didn’t answer. She pulled out the leftovers from the night before. 

“Maeve,” Logan said while her head was in the fridge.

“What,” she said flatly. When he didn’t answer, she looked over her shoulder at him. “What?” she repeated.

“What did I do? To Armistice, why is she…”

“We’re objects,” Maeve said. “To you. Not you, but your family, their friends. She knows that better than anyone. So. That’s what.” And Maeve returned to setting up lunch.

Logan didn’t say anything until the girls came back. “Hey,” Armistice said. “That for us?”

“It is,” Maeve agreed. “Have what you want.”

And Logan finally spoke, then. “Me too?”

“Oh, you don’t want something fresh?” Armistice said, grinning at him and then at Clem’s disapproval. “What?”

“You don’t need to pick at people,” Clem said quietly. “Y’know.”

“I know,” Armistice said. “I want to.”

Maeve remembered the look on Armistice’s face when she took down that attempted killer, the grin, and she had to admit she sometimes wanted to, too. But that wasn’t something she felt she could say, so she changed the subject to something lighter. They talked about Armistice’s disastrous exploits in dating, which led to Logan contributing some horror stories of his own and Maeve one of hers, too. Clem stayed conspicuously silent, but she was in general good humor. In short, it was nice.

Armistice’s walkie talkie crackled, and they heard Hector’s voice. “Incoming,” he said. “James is back. All units be advised.”

“Copy that,” Armistice answered, and the other guards all radioed in as well. She jumped up, her boots making a heavy clunk on the floor, andshoved a last bite in her mouth. “With me, pretty boy.”

“What?” Logan stood. “Why?”

“Because we’ve got orders to keep you from hurting each other,” Armistice said.

“Not from my father, you don’t.”

She shrugged. “There are other orders. Come on. We’re gonna chill out by the pool.”

“So you can push us in if we start to fight? Like crazy dogs?” Logan demanded.

“No,” Armistice answered evenly. “So I can see him coming and head it off before then. Let’s get going.”

His father bellowed and threw things. He broke an antique silver mirror Clem had just polished that morning. He did quite a bit of screaming. It could be heard through most of the house, until at last he finished a bottle of scotch and retired to his room. 

Dinner was just Logan and his mother. “Hey,” he said. “It’s only gonna get more interesting when Julie gets back. Small blessings, I guess, right?”

His mother said nothing, as she usually did in Maeve’s experience. Logan sort of shook his head in the silence, and looked at Maeve, who was bringing out a final few dishes. “Better or worse? I’m taking bets.”

“I wouldn’t dare comment,” she said.

Logan raised his eyebrows at her, amused, but he let her leave. And he came to find her after dinner. “You really have no comment?”

“Will you both be here a while?” Maeve asked.

“Unfortunately. Dad sold the apartment she was living in. So you’re stuck with me for a bit. Hope you’re not too put out.”

Maeve rolled her eyes, but her chest felt tight.

 

 

If Logan was a forest fire of raging emotion, his sister was a downpour. Her moods were much calmer, smoother, her demeanor was on the whole, more even. She wasn’t as polite as Logan to the staff, but then, she was older. More comfortably entrenched in the power she had.

And Logan positively adored her.

It was sweet, they all decided. He followed his older sister around like a puppy. Everything she said was taken as gospel. Any slights were taken desperately serious. And for a while, the house reached a kind of balance. Two parents, two children.

He stopped hanging around the kitchen as much. Sometimes on a late night, he would join Maeve while she washed up. Or at the crack of dawn, when she started the coffee, he’d linger over a cup or two.

James didn’t hit either of his children for quite some time after that first time, but Maeve saw the aftershocks all the same. The children both flinched when their father moved too quickly, though they played it off well. That spoke to a long history of concealment, which Maeve didn’t like at all.

“They’re all like this,” Hector said, when she told him some of her thoughts on the subject. “All these rich men.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Maeve muttered. “Still. It turns my stomach.”

“Where you go, I follow,” Hector declared after studying her face. “Set the course, my love.”

Maeve smiled. He could always make her smile easier than anyone else. “I won’t leave,” she said then. “Not yet. Pay’s too good. And I doubt very much I could take the whole group anywhere.”

Hector kissed her hand and didn’t protest. That was one of his best qualities, she thought, though it was more of side effect of the nihilism. She was less patient with that. And she was thinking, presently, about her daughter. How she might fit in here, if she were to come. The fact of the matter was that she wouldn’t. Maeve knew that. But it was nice to think about.

Through the back door, Logan breezed in looking very cheerful. “Alright,” he said, leaning his hands on the table. “So we all remember Theranos.”

“No we don’t,” Hector said. He was comfortable enough with Logan now not to remove his arm from her shoulder; Maeve was less so, but she stayed where she was warily. “Elaborate,” Hector added.

“The blood thing that went belly-up. When my dad flipped shit.” Logan waited for recognition to dawn, and then he continued, hurling through the words at a breakneck pace. “I’ve found another opportunity.”

“Okay,” Maeve said dubiously.

“And I want your thoughts on it. And not just the whole thing about morality, okay, I want your opinion on if it’s a good idea.”

“Why on earth would you want that,” Maeve said. “I’ve never invested anything.”

Logan pointed at her as if she’d hit on something key. “Because,” he said. “You have common sense. Something everyone else is really fucking lacking around here.”

Maeve looked at Hector, and he returned the look. Didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea. “I’ll probably be wrong,” she said.

“I’ll take all responsibility for my decisions,” Logan promised. Maeve wasn’t quite sure why she believed him.

“Let’s have it, then,” she said.

That began a new phase of their relationship, a professional one. Logan would bring Maeve ideas. She would give them her honest consideration. Most were clear scams to her, and she said as much. Some seemed valid. And very few were approved by James.

Logan was always wildly excited at the beginning, despairing when it didn’t work out. His moods were sharply delineated, self-regulated with alcohol and harder drugs, Maeve suspected. He only let her see the drinking. Felt a bit like he wanted to impress her. She didn’t like it. But it carried on for a few years this way, and seemed to work alright.

Juliet came and went in those next few years. To hear her talk, she was always on the verge of getting engaged to whomever she was with, always on fancy vacations and trips. That was all well and good, but for the effect it had on Logan.

Maeve watched him try to connect with each in the series of boyfriends with little result. She knew what the trouble was, most of the time, after watching their interactions. Logan was so much. So excitable and young and charming. Try as he might, he couldn’t be as calm as them, as aloof. One thing Logan never was was aloof.

The guys never stuck, for whatever reason. Maeve learned to have the fridges stocked with comfort food after those break ups. She could expect Logan to seek her out more often, too, like clockwork.

 

“When’s your birthday?” Logan asked her out of the blue. He was drinking, as he usually was during these late night talks. “I’m a bad friend, aren’t I. That I don’t know that. No, I’m not,” he corrected himself. “You don’t know mine.”

“I do,” she frowned. “August, correct? The twentieth.”

He looked taken aback. “What?”

“I work for you, it’s my job to know,” Maeve said flatly.

Logan looked away, nodding slowly. “You work for me, huh,” he said.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” Maeve said.

“Didn’t you?” he said. “Seems pretty clear. Not that I mind.”

He clearly minded. Maeve eyed him over, watched him finish the glass and straighten up to go. “You want the truth?” she said then.

“Of course.” Logan looked at her with renewed interest, dark eyes sparkling.

And today, Maeve decided not to temper her opinion. To give him exactly what he claimed to want. “I’m your hobby,” she said. “Not your friend. You come to me when you’re bored. And you don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh,” Logan managed lamely. “I see.” He leaned back in and poured another drink. “Well. I guess I’m an _extremely_ bad friend, then.” He glanced up to make sure Maeve was smiling, which she was, and he smiled in return. "Tell me this, then,” he said. “Why haven’t you told me to fuck off? You know you wouldn’t lose your job over it.”

Irritatingly, she did know that. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I suppose I assumed this was… what you wanted.”

“What?” Logan looked offended.

Maeve leveled him a look. “That isn’t so outlandish,” she said. “It’s a classic relationship, you know. Lonely rich child and the servants.”

Logan looked at her blankly for a second, and Maeve worried she had seriously miscalculated. “Okay,” he finally said. “When’s your birthday?”

“November 6th,” she answered. “But I don’t celebrate it.”

“What!?”

“I don’t,” Maeve repeated defensively. “We just wrap it into Christmas when I go home.”

Logan wrinkled his nose. “Gross,” he said. “That’s why I love my summer birthday.”

“Not gross,” Maeve said. “I’d rather spend it with my family.”

He nodded, but his mind was somewhere else. Maeve knew that fidgeting. If the past was anything to judge by, he’d start pacing and then leave. Probably to go score some coke. Maeve knew the ups for what they were now. She’d found the leftovers on his bathroom counter too often to mistake it for something else.

“Logan,” she said.

“Hmm?”

Maeve didn’t know what to say. Logan looked up at her after a second, and something kind of clicked behind his eyes. “Who’s your family?” he asked, and he got up to fetch another glass. He came back, poured a fifth, and pushed it across the table to Maeve. She accepted it with a reluctant little smile. “Parents?” he asked.

“My mother,” Maeve said. “Three brothers.” She had a sip, weighed the words in her head before she decided to add, “And I have a daughter.”

Logan made a big deal about how shocking that was, pulled a series of faces and made a very phlegmy sound. “What?” he said. “How old is she?”

Quick mental math. “Sixteen,” she said, and drained her glass.

He frowned. “Whoa. How old were you when you had her?”

Maeve clenched her jaw. “Too young,” she said.

“Why isn’t she here with you?”

If they kept going on this way, she’d finish the bottle herself tonight. “I should get to bed,” she said. “Early morning.”

“Maeve,” Logan said.

“No,” she said sharply - too sharp, he was only trying to care - and stood up. Maeve crossed her arms. “No,” she repeated. “I don’t need to be taken care of. Least of all by you.”

“Why,” he said, tilting his head. “Because I’m just the kid of the asshole you work for? Not your friend?”

“No,” she said. “Not that.”

“Then what?”

Maeve looked at him. He was older now, still younger than she was when they met. Didn’t act like it, but of course he hadn’t been required to grow up as fast. She didn’t begrudge him that, truly. But she couldn’t confide in him.

They stood there in silence for a while. It seemed Logan was, for once, waiting for her to speak first. He shifted, to put his hands in his pockets. “I can’t,” Maeve finally said, because that was the truth. “I can’t talk about it, right now. As fond as I am of you.”

Logan came around the table to her, moving quickly, and he sat on the chair in front of her. “Fond?” he repeated, tilting his head to one side.

“Don’t make me regret saying that,” she muttered.

“No, it’s just…” He shrugged, but his eyes were sparkling when he looked at her. “A quaint way of putting it.”

“Oh, stuff your quaintness up your ass,” Maeve sighed.

He loved that. He laughed, and she looked at him with another one of those smiles she couldn’t help. “I won’t make you regret it,” he said with light still in his eyes. 

“I know,” she said.

 

 

Armistice was the one who found him. She ran into the kitchen, breathless, and told Maeve. Logan had fainted out by the pool, and he wasn’t waking up.

Hector got him upstairs, while Maeve told the Delos their son wouldn’t be joining them for dinner. Mary said nothing. James waved her off dismissively. And rage coiled in the pit of Maeve’s stomach, but she tamped it down to call the doctor.

Logan’s forehead was cold and clammy. There was blood under his nose.

Armistice was perched on windowsill, looking outside. “Hector got called back to his post,” she said. Blood in her hair gave it a pinkish tint; she noticed and tied it up into a bun. One side of her head was shaved. The head of a snake was tattooed on the skin, curving down her neck. Barely noticeable if she kept her hair down. Maeve found it a little grotesque.

“Thank you, darling,” Maeve said. “Get his shoes off, would you?”

“Sure.” Armistice stood up and yanked at the heel of one of Logan’s shoes. “When’s the doctor coming?”

“Twenty minutes.” Maeve went into his bathroom and got a washcloth, dampened it with warm water. She came back with it, and pressed it over his face, scrubbing it clean.

Armistice roughly tugged his blankets free and pulled them over him, and then she stepped back to stand with Maeve. “Doesn’t look good,” he said.

“It’ll be fine,” Maeve said. “Doctor Heathcliff is incredible.”

But Doctor Heathcliff wasn’t who showed up at the door. Instead, it was some slight Asian man, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of his bag. He was new to the practice, he explained, and proceeded to be the most absolutely irritating person Maeve had ever met.

Logan’s problem was simple, in the end. The flu. Felix was too anxious to ask about the drugs directly, though he hinted they’d made things worse. They also confused the issue; Felix performed tests for most of the evening with his various little gadgets before he concluded it was nothing more serious.

It was nearly midnight, by the time Felix left. Logan had woken up during the tests and fallen back asleep; he was asleep now, restlessly, his hair damp on the pillow. He had a patch of gauze taped in the crook of his arm from the blood tests. Maeve was exhausted.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was nearly dead, she observed, and read the message from Clem. _Are u ok?_

 _I’m fine._ Maeve put her phone away, but no sooner does she let it go than it buzzes again.

Clem again. _Coming to bed?_

 _I’ll be there eventually_ , Maeve answered. Because as much as she wanted to be in bed, she couldn’t just leave him here.

Hesitantly, she moved to his bedside to try and wake him, but then her resolve failed her. She just looked at him for a moment. He was dwarfed by the bed. Finally, she reached out and touched his arm. “Logan.”

He stirred, eyes fluttering open. Maeve noticed, for the first time, his long eyelashes. She poked his arm a little harder, and he weakly batted her hand away. “Huh?” he sighed, and properly opened his eyes.

“You’ve had quite the night,” Maeve said, her voice impressively steady.

Gratifyingly, Logan smiled at her. “Hey,” he said, and swallowed hard. She gave him the glass of water on the bedside table, and he pushed himself up on one arm to sip some. “Thanks,” he said then, flopping back down on his back. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“Near midnight,” she answered.

He dug his finger in the corner of his eye. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Whatever for?”

“For… I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated, quieter. “I was a lot of trouble tonight. For that.” He blinked his eyes back open, and met her eyes.

“Of course,” Maeve murmured. She still couldn’t bring herself to leave. There was something important on her mind. “You know, the doctor said you only got so bad because there were certain… substances in your system.”

That piqued his interest, though he tried to pretend he hadn’t. “Oh?” he said faintly.

“They probably won’t help your recovery either,” she said, as subtly as she could manage. Which, granted, wasn’t subtle at all.

“Thanks, I can handle it,” Logan said, and now he was avoiding her gaze.

“Logan,” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” he burst out, with a little energy more like what she was used to. “I get it, you’re disappointed and you don’t want to be here doing this and I won’t do this again. Okay? Can we be done?”

Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Not okay,” she said, and Logan petulantly threw an arm over his eyes in exasperation. She pulled it down, and looked him in the eyes to tell him softer, “I’m not disappointed, I’m worried. Dear, I’m worried about you.” She kept her hand on his arm.

Logan looked away, blinked several times. “I don’t have a problem,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I can stop.”

“It’d be best if you would,” she said.

He nodded, listless again. “I will,” he said. “I swear.”

Maeve reached out to feel his forehead again; he was hot now, burning up. Logan closed his eyes at her touch, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “I can get you an ice pack,” she began.

“Nah, no. Go to bed, I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll make it. Go. Get some sleep. I’ll still be sick in the morning. Probably.”

She couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll check on you before breakfast,” she said. “Anything you need?”

Logan shook his head, just slightly. “Thank you,” he said. “If it was up to my dad I’d still be on the patio.”

That seemed unfortunately likely. “Good thing it isn’t,” Maeve said. It wasn’t particularly tender as far as a way to say goodnight, but it seemed to do the trick. Logan was asleep before she left the room.

 

He was in bed for more than a week. His parents saw him exactly zero times, and Maeve noted that with a kind of pang in her heart. That wasn't the sole reason she took more of an interest, but it contributed. Logan also knew how to look particularly pathetic, leaning back against his pillows. Snow White, Maeve thought on more than one occasion, but kept that to herself.

"It's pity, isn't it," Logan said on the third day. She was changing his sheets after an unfortunate attempt from Logan at eating, and he was sitting in a chair, waiting. The windows were thrown open, and the air was cold enough to be bracing. "I'd help if I was less dizzy."

"Don't worry about it," Maeve said, shaking out a fitted sheet over the bed. "And it isn't pity."

"Are you telling me I'm not pitiful?" he asked, and lolled his head to one side. It was very pitiable, or would be if Maeve looked at him.

"I'm telling you your grand quest for finding my ulterior motives has once again, turned up fools gold," she said with a bit of edge, and began negotiating elastic corners over mattress corners.

Logan was not satisfied with that answer. He bounced one leg, then stopped. Maeve caught his face looking queasy. "It's not a quest," he said, sounding a little petulant. "But I know when you're lying to me."

It would be less irritating if he was less right. Maeve wasn't telling him the whole truth. "I'm not lying," she said once the fitted sheet was on the bed. "Get up."

He genuinely did struggle as he got to his feet, and Maeve offered him a hand that he accepted with reluctance. They got him over to his bed together, and once he was sitting again Logan had more to say. "You kind of are, though. I mean you don't just volunteer to clean up puke. Come on, you could have Clementine do this." He seemed to notice something, then and his face sort of fell. "Right. Except you don't trust me around her."

That wasn't entirely false, but it wasn't remotely why Maeve was here. "Stop," she said firmly, arms crossed. "This has nothing to do with Clementine."

"But nothing else makes sense!"

"Don't yell at me," Maeve told him, "and you might get a straight answer." She piled blanket back on him and tossed his pillows back up, waiting to make sure he would behave. "It's not pity," she said then. "And it's not protecting Clem from you or any of those nonsense reasons you've proposed.

"When do we get to the part where you tell me what it is?" Logan said, arranging his pillows again and leaning back against them.

Maeve didn't like being hurried. "Hard to say," she said. "I'm getting you more ginger ale."

He was asleep when she got back, curled up on his side. Maeve sighed, felt his forehead again. Still, Logan was radiating heat like a furnace. She pulled the blankets a little higher over his shoulder and left.

She hauled the sheets down to the laundry room. That wasn't her job, so she left them. It wasn't like they'd run out of sheets. Then she climbed the steps to the kitchen and found something to eat, some dodgy leftovers she was too hungry to worry about. While she was eating, Armistice wandered in.

"Hey," she said. "In the kitchen for once, huh?"

Maeve frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whoa." Armistice put her hands up. "Nothing. Joke. How's the kid?"

Suspiciously, Maeve finished her bite. "Not great," she said.

Armistice kind of grunted, and came to sit by Maeve. She dropped her head on Maeve's shoulder, too. "You don't have to do this shit for him," she said. "You know that, yeah?"

"Yes," Maeve said stiffly. "It's voluntary."

"Right. But it means he's in, right?"

"In what?"

"In the family," Armistice said, sitting back up to look at Maeve. She was frowning, with a gentleness softening the corners of the expression. "Your family," she clarified. "Us. You, me, Hector. Clem. Him, now."

Maeve's heart released one perilous, traitorous pulse of warmth. "Ah," she managed to say, and then took the coward's way out - another bite.

Armistice put one wiry arm around Maeve's shoulders. "No?" she asked.

"Well," Maeve said. "He's... flighty. And I don't intend to be left." Not by someone she let be important, not again.

"You know I'm not leaving you, Ma."

Maeve leaned closer to the other girl. "Of course," she said. "Of course I know that."

"Actually, I had a question," Armistice said. "Can I crash with you tonight? I'm only off six hours, so going home feels a little like a lost cause."

"Of course, darling. You need a change of clothes?"

Armistice shrugged. Maeve always had the feeling that the girl would wear the same clothes for a month if no one would notice. "Whatever," she said. "No big."

She went upstairs to check on Logan shortly after dinner, reflecting that the steps were probably good for her muscle tone but irritating all the same. He was in bed still, on his laptop, but his hair was wet and clothes changed. The ginger ale was gone. "Showered," he said when she came in.

“Good. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m coming down from something,” he said. “Not great.”

Maeve nodded, pushed his hair away from his ear and took his temperature. It was still high, incrementally less so. That was progress, at least.

“My parents are out for dinner tomorrow,” Logan said. “They have a meeting with Dad’s business partners.”

“Alright,” Maeve said dubiously. “And?”

“And, I’ve made you and Hector a reservation at Lamonde for tomorrow at seven. My treat.”

Maeve gaped at him for a moment. “Why on Earth did you do that?” she demanded after she got her composure back.

“To thank you,” Logan said magnanimously. “For all you’ve done for me,” he added when she gave him another blank look.

“Caring for you while you’re sick isn’t anything I need to be thanked for,” Maeve began.

“Yes it is,” Logan said. He looked away, out the window. “If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have anyone, so.” He cleared his throat.

Maeve was overtaken with warmth again, and she sat on the edge of his bed. “No, you silly boy,” she said. “I mean I’m not doing it to be thanked.”

Logan did look at her then and at first he just looked blank, like it had yet to register. Then he tilted his head a bit. “I’m not that much younger than you,” he said after a second with a little smile that he must have meant to be charming.

“You’re still a boy,” she said.

He tried to act like he hated that, but all he did was smile down at his lap. “You should get the lamb,” he said. “It’s the best thing on the menu.”

That’s when Maeve got the first inkling, the feeling that maybe he would stick around. “That’s a very nice thing you’ve done,” she said softly. “I do hope you know.”

Logan let himself take that to heart; she saw it in his eyes. “Well, hey,” he said. “We couldn’t all be remorseless sociopaths, I guess.”

“Small blessings,” Maeve snorted, and just like that they were back to their rhythm.

Armistice was in her bed when she got back, wearing an old pair of Maeve’s pajamas. She grinned up at Maeve. “I used my own toothbrush,” she promised.

“Sure as fuck hope so,” Maeve grumbled, partially to see Armistice laugh, which she did. “When do you need to get up, can I set an alarm?”

“Five. Thanks.”

“You could set your own alarm if you’d get a phone,” Maeve pointed out. She changed quick, dumping her clothes in the laundry basket. She’d have to do laundry soon.

“Yeah,” Armistice said. “But then I’d have to pay for that, y’know? And I’ve got a walkie talkie anyways.”

“Not a phone,” Maeve said. “What if I want to call you?”

Armistice shrugged off her concerns, but after the light was off, when Armistice was curled up under Maeve’s arm, she said, “I’ll think about it. A phone. I miss the sound of your voice, sometimes. At home.”

Maeve smiled. “That’s all I could ask,” she said. And, while no one was looking, she kissed Armistice’s white-blonde hair. Even though some of it got stuck to her lips.

Neither of them moved in their sleep. When Maeve’s phone went off at five, they were in the same position. Armistice slipped free, muted the alarm, and got ready in the dark. She pressed a kiss to Maeve’s forehead before she left.

 

It was a quiet Monday night. Maeve had just finished preparing a meal for twenty, all the people James Delos was trying to impress. Logan was there, supporting his father, of course. He looked dashing in his black suit, holding a martini. Maeve understood his use to James; he was a status symbol as much as the Rolex on James' wrist. As much as her, serving champagne to these people. She made eye contact with Logan as she was serving the man across from him, and Logan pulled a face. Maeve had to smother her answering smile.

The doctor was here, Felix. He gave her a tight-lipped, awkward smile. Juliet was back, as well, sitting next to her brother. She had a new boyfriend too, a man who seemed washed-out, uncomfortably thin. He thanked Maeve for the champagne; she felt an instinctual kind of cold shiver. She almost preferred Juliet ignoring her, or the strange little man giving her interested glances.

Back in the kitchen, Maeve set down an empty bottle and looked at Clementine, who was preparing trays of fruit tarts. "The man," she said.

"With Juliet?" Maeve nodded. "I don't like him."

"Me neither. Keep your wits about you."

Clem nodded. "Sit down, Maeve," she said. "You've done basically everything. Let us handle dessert and clean up."

Maeve didn't like sitting down. Warily, she leaned against the counter for a moment, and watched the girls take trays of deserts out. It was the last thing she needed to worry about. Coffee was made and waiting for the guests, she had two extra bottles of wine and brandy ready on demand. And it had been a very long evening. So she paused, for a second.

Hector was out front. Armistice was was stationed out back. It occurred to Maeve that she was hidden from sight most of the time. She wondered if that was intentional, then wondered if anyone would notice if she went out back with her. Probably. With her luck, she'd go and there would be some sort of dessert emergency.

The door to the dining room swung open again, but it wasn't any of the girls. "Jeeeesus," Logan sighed. "It's insufferable in there."

Maeve smirked. "You've held up very well," she said. "Made it through almost the whole thing."

He came over to lean next to her against the counter. "I've been endurance training," he said solemnly. "Bullshit endurance. And you saw Julie's new boytoy, didn't you?"

"I did."

"He's the worst kind of goody two-shoes," Logan said vehemently. "A fucking fake."

She couldn't disagree with that. "Maybe he's nervous," she said, though she didn't believe that for a second. "Putting on a front."

"Oh, come on, Maeve," Logan sighed, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Don't try to sugarcoat it, please." His shoulder knocked against hers.

Maeve looked across the room at the back door. "I don't like him," she said.

"I knew it." Some of his exuberance had left him since his illness in the summer; he was getting high less, Maeve thought. Drinking less, certainly. But he still had those almost childish wild emotions. Reluctantly, Maeve had to admit it was part of his charm. "What do you think of Lee?" he asked after a brief silence. "Short guy. Stubble. Kinda mousey."

The one who'd been checking her out when he dared. "He's been looking at my ass all evening," Maeve said. "And the night isn't over yet."

"If he touches you, I'll punch him in the face," Logan said immediately. "Dad wants to invest in a series of movies from him. Thinks that'll have good return."

"Good luck to him," Maeve said.

Logan exhaled half a laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Then there's this software company he's trying to acquire. An MMORPG, immersive thing. VR. Whatever. There's another guy experimenting with this magic potion thing that's total bullshit. And Felix is opening his own practice."

Maeve nodded. "Good for him," she said. "Sounds productive."

"Yeah," Logan said, a false note in his voice. "He's very happy." That sort of hung in the air between them for several beats. "Well," he said. "I'd better get back."

"Try and enjoy yourself," Maeve said.

"Right," he said. "Easier said than done." And he left, straightening up and adjusting his shirt collar before he entered the room.

The dinner party lasted several more hours. Maeve did sit down at the long table, and read the day's news on her phone. She'd taken to paying closer attention to the business articles too, since Logan persisted in asking her opinion. She was reading when Logan came back in the room, noticeably drunker.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the seat next to her. "Fucking finally, it's over." He put his head down on his arms.

"I thought you liked networking," she said, looking at the nape of his neck. "You're damn good at it, too."

Logan shrugged. "Not when everyone's kissing Dad's ass," he said, voice muffled.

She put her hand on his back instead of answering, because she didn't have a lot to say. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No," he said, and sat up straight. "Also gross. Don't use your polite voice on me."

Maeve was trying to figure out how to respond to that when the dining room door opened and someone else came in. James. She couldn't recall seeing him in the kitchen before. He swayed on his feet, the same as Logan had, and looked at the two of them with open shock. Maeve took her hand off Logan's back. "Wouldja look at this, then," James said. "Fucking the cook, eh?"

"Jesus, no," Logan frowned. "What do you want?"

James spotted the bottles on the counter and picked up the brandy. "Well, here I was," he said. "Getting another drink. Only to discover you've a fondness for older women."

"She's not that much older than me!" Logan said loudly. Maeve knew that defensiveness was her fault, and she'd almost find it funny if it wasn't doing everything to prove James' point. "And we're not fucking. I don't need to resort to people who work for me," he added pointedly, and Maeve's stomach sank.

James got a dangerous look in his eye, and advanced on them. Maeve stood. "Sir," she said.

Logan cut her off. He got up in front of her, and straightened his back. James looked up at his son, and said, "You self-satisfied fuck."

"Me?" Logan began in indignation. His indignation took a while to get properly fired up. His dad popped him in the gut before he could get going.

Maeve strode quickly to the door, yanked it open and called for Armistice. The girl came over immediately, shivering a little from the cold. As soon as she saw the Delos men through the door, she pushed past Maeve and ran inside. It was an art, really how quickly she broke the two of them up. She wedged in between them, blocked a hit with her shoulder and pushed James back. "Off," she said flatly, to James. "Go."

"It's my damn house," James told her. "I can do whatever the fuck I please."

"Not if you want keep our contract," Armistice said. Looking at her, there was no doubt that she could take the old man down if she needed to. Behind her, Logan climbed to his feet with some help from the table. "No violence of any kind on the grounds," Armistice reminded him.

"Fuck your bloody contract," James snarled, but he left in a huff, and Maeve took a deep breath in.

Armistice turned to look at Maeve. "So it was a good party, then?" she said, with her dark kind of humor.

"It was," Logan said. “He got everything he wanted.”

“You went down pretty hard,” Armistice said. “Concussion?”

Logan just shrugged. He was avoiding looking at either of them. “Thanks,” he told Armistice. “And thanks to whoever your mysterious boss is. That’s a pretty convenient policy of his.”

“Not really,” Armistice said. “Allowing some violence means we might miss the real shit, so. Convenient mostly,” she shrugged. “Hasn’t really come up before, with other clients.”

“Great,” Logan said. “Fantastic.” He took a deep breath in and winced. “Fuck.” Finally he shot a glance at Maeve, looking away the moment they made eye contact.

“Oh, out with it,” Maeve said with irritation. “Come on.”

He was all bashful nerves now. “Sorry,” he offered. “Sorry about the whole… about him.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “He’s a fool.”

“Like father like son, I guess,” Logan mumbled.

Armistice knocked his arm with the back of her hand. “That’s my line,” she said. “You smoke?”

“Do you?” Logan said in surprise.

“Sometimes. Get ‘em off Hector. Even Maeve will indulge every once in a while, how about it?” Armistice looked between the two of them.

Maeve crossed her arms. “I’m in if you are,” she said to Logan.

“How could I say no to that?” Logan said, with an echo of his usual mischievous smile.

 

He avoided her for a few weeks after that, like he was worried of what his dad might say. Maeve honestly didn’t give a fuck, but she didn’t push things. She had enough going on with Juliet’s boyfriend hanging around.

William was unfailingly polite and unmistakably bone-chilling. Worst of all, he had a habit of dropping into the kitchen, especially after the first time he discovered Logan and Maeve drinking there. It was so awkward Maeve could hardly stand it, and Logan hated him so he stopped hanging around. He went to his room, presumably because it was somewhere he could lock him out.

That’s when Maeve discovered that she missed him. It didn’t feel like enough to miss, really. Him prattling on about the companies his father was investing in, discussing the people at the gym or parties or wherever else he went, asking if she’d seen movies or heard news or such. She didn’t realize it was such a part of her day until it was gone, and she felt a little empty.

Logan caught her drinking one night, at the table with a tumbler full of gin. "You're alone?" Logan asked. He was in pajamas, a T-shirt and some nondescript pajama pants that surely cost a fortune.

"For now," Maeve said, with a glance at the clock. "He comes by around this time usually."

Logan groaned but he didn't leave. "Fucking Billy," he said, and came over to her. "He should just stay in a hotel. But then he wouldn't be able to kiss Dad's ass."

Maeve made a face, and when Logan pointed at her drink she nodded and let him finish the liquor. "If you want to miss him, you'll want to get going," she said.

He nodded but didn't move. "What'd he talk about the other night?"

"When you abandoned me with him?" Maeve said, with some good-natured annoyance. "Oh, yes, that was quite the night."

Logan nudged her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, uncharacteristically sincere.

She smiled at him when he wasn't looking. "Alright," she said. "I have an idea." It was good that he didn't argue, or she might've lost her nerve. It was nerve-wracking to take him downstairs. This was hers, it was peace and there was a strict unspoken "no Delos" policy she was violating. The last thing she wanted was him feeling entitled to come down here all the time. But at the same time, she knew Logan better than that.

Silently, he examined the room. She waited, uncomfortably, while he looked at her books and the painting and the quilt on her bed. "Well?" she said. "Sit down."

"This is all the space you get?" Logan said.

"I'm not here much," she said. "And I fly home on my days off."

"Where's home?" He sat on the end of her bed, back against the wall, and looked at her. Something in his face was off, more open.

"London," she said. "Where my family is."

He could ask about her daughter. She almost wanted him to. When he didn't, she sat on the bed too, crossing her legs underneath herself. "Dad doesn't get VR," he said. "Doesn't understand it. I think I'm going to take the opportunity, though. The programmers are really something special. What do you think?"

"What's the market share?" she asked. "Who uses VR?"

"Most of the world. The units are basically game consoles now."

"So what differentiates them?"

"The coding," Logan said. "Every single character responds organically to the player, and load times are still unnoticeable. They have a couple incredible programmers. I have a lunch with them next week, to get to know the team."

Maeve nodded, but that wasn't enough. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I like it," she said. "You should test it, though. Make sure it's totally immersive."

Logan wrinkled his nose. "I get motion sick. I'll have Julie test it."

"William will come with her," Maeve pointed out.

"Fuck," Logan let his head knock back against the wall. "Well. I'll do something."

Maeve nodded. "I know you will."

He looked at her then, searching her face for something. "Maeve," he said at last.

"Yes?"

There was nothing to say. He just looked at her. She got uncomfortable and looked away. "I appreciate that you're trying to say something profound," she began, "but-"

"When I move out, I want you to come with me," Logan said.

"You'll need a cook?"

"Not a cook," he said. "Personal assistant." 

He sounded serious. Maeve started to take it seriously. "I'm not going anywhere without Hector, Armistice, and Clem," she said, just so that was out of the way.

"Done," he said. "Them too. I'll get something with a guest house, so you guys can actually have space to live in. That's a promise."

"Don't make promises," Maeve said.

"I am, though," he said. "You're too smart to be here, keeping my dad happy."

It was hard to know what to say to that. Maeve kept quiet. "Fuck," Logan finally added. "We have to get Juliet away from Billy, though."

"I'm sure if anyone could annoy someone into showing their true colors, it'd be you," Maeve said with a bit of a smile.

 

In the end, he didn't just make her his assistant. After the virtual reality world took off, Logan offered to pay her - and the rest - partially in shares. He wanted them to buy in, to want him to succeed as much as he wanted to. It worked, too. The company got bigger. The household got closer. Unless people were coming over, Logan ate with all of them. He helped clean up too, most nights.

Juliet was very surprised at her brother, the first time she'd dropped by and seen how his house worked. But there was no denying how much happier he was, how well his finances were handled, how loyal everyone that worked for him was. Clem had been approached by a competitor and offered twice her salary for anything she knew. She'd reported them. And over time, Maeve watched as Juliet started showing up more often.

William and Juliet married. For a while everything was fine. Then James passed away. Delos, as a brand, was just an investment company. His children dissolved it. But when Juliet told William, and he learned he would receive no part of her inheritance, the resulting argument ended in Juliet moving in with her brother temporarily.

Security found a woman leaving William's bedroom late one morning. After that, Juliet bought her own house a few streets away. They established a weekly dinner, spent holidays together. Logan flew Maeve's family in for one Christmas, even, and Maeve cried at that. It was too much, everyone she cared about in one place. It was the best holiday she'd ever had.

Maeve told Logan, eventually, about her daughter. She wasn't really Maeve's anymore. When Maeve found herself pregnant at eighteen, she knew a child wasn't something she could handle. So she put the little one up for adoption. She got to see her every few years, give her a stuffed animal or something. They introduced her as Aunt Maeve, and her darling daughter knew no better. And eventually, Maeve learned to be at peace with that. She had a different family, different people to look out for. They were real, and irreplaceable.


End file.
